I awaken outside with the sun rising above the trees. My mind grasps backwards for some connection between where I am and where I was. My eyes are blurry and I blink and rub them. I feel a panic building as I wonder what I’ve done. Was I drinking? I see butterflies and hear birds. I sit up and see an old man sitting on a boulder. We’re in a clearing surrounded by low trees. He looks up from a book he's writing in.

“Greetings.”

Stringy hair conceals his face and he has the look of homelessness and poverty. The shabby rags he wears are stained and frayed at all the edges.

“Hey...”

My head feels fine. My mouth has the usual morning taste. My mind is still grasping but finding nothing. I look over myself and my clothes are unfamiliar. They look poorly handmade. Like I’m wearing potato sacks. But this all feels familiar.

I smile uncomfortably at the old man and I want to just get up and walk away like nothing’s wrong. But I know he’s got something to say.

“Crazy night…”

He raises his head on his hunched back to look at me. His voice isn’t as old as he looks.

"Not likely. There is a man coming and you don't want to meet him. That path will take you to a town that can provide some sanctuary… you need to hurry."

He points to my left where I can see the overgrown path he’s referring to. He's very dry and to the point. There's an apathy about him. Or distraction.

“Here. This is for you.”

He reaches into a bag and pulls out a book. I look around the clearing. I notice the sky is darkening with cloud. They’re different. The way desert clouds look different from ocean clouds. I hear thunder in the distance. And there’s a sudden cool wind. I feel very uneasy. I look back at the old man and he just looks dirty. Dirty old man hands.

“Yeah, uh… thanks. You take care.”

I turn and leave him with his arm still extended holding the book. I follow the path for lack of anything else to follow. How fucked up is this? I can’t remember anything. But at least no one’s watching now and I take some time to get my bearings. Maybe I had a stroke. Maybe something in my head just snapped. I pat around my pants but find nothing. Nothing to show me what I am. Not even a pocket. I don’t want to be here. There’s nothing recognizable for me to hold on to. I feel like I’ve woken up on a raft adrift in the ocean. I’ve felt this before. A different familiar feeling. But one which immediately causes panic to build.

The woods along the path darken to black the further in I look. There’s a cracking like a branch or twig snapping to my left. I stare into the dark but all I hear is the wind in the trees. I look back along the path which bends out of view. No sign of the old man at least. If I had to escape I’m not sure how far I’d get before running out of breath. The branches of the trees are low enough to climb though. Pretty sure I could manage that.

I continue along the path at as brisk a pace as I can while avoiding roots that crisscross in front of me. I’m dripping sweat from my head which is running down my back. The soles of whatever I’m wearing are nothing more than tough or thick leather forcing me to step lightly to avoid stomping on small stones. I can’t imagine a circumstance that could have landed me here. There’s an answer at the end of this path. It’ll all make sense. Or at least something will. It has to. That doesn’t cure the anxiety but it does fuel some drive. I push forward with conviction and desperation.

The sky grows darker. Those clouds are definitely different. Almost like they couldn’t occur naturally. Like they were crafted with intention. Behind me they flicker sporadically and constantly in a way I don’t recognize. The thunder is constant too. Just a low unending rumble. It’s unnerving to not know the sky.

I walk long enough for those clouds to blot out all the blue. And suddenly the land spreads out in front of me. The bottoms of my feet are sore and the wind is cooler than before. The woods end abruptly to either side and ahead it is wide open rocky fields and low hills. I must be facing east towards where I saw the rising sun. The grey reaches down to the horizon now. There is a river that separates the woods from the fields and spilling up from it is what I assume to be the town the old man mentioned. I see a larger central wood lodge surrounded by lower housing. It’s barely a village. There’s a bridge that leads from the town over the river. To what may be the south are larger hills and rising mountains.

A single road passes through the houses. It runs along the river and crosses to the far bank over the bridge. I hear the wind and the water and nothing besides. I enter the village along the road and I see what must be a store front. The central lodge facing it appears to be a tavern or inn. It’s all very rustic. Log cabins and horse shit. The Laughing Dog is carved into a wooden sign swinging over the entrance to the tavern. Guisarme’s Goods is scrawled on a sandwich board outside the storefront.

I step up to the door of The Laughing Dog and grasp the handle. It opens outward and I enter into the dimly lit interior. It’s still early I think and the only person I see is a large man behind a bar who raises an eye to me. I pause and look around and there are tables and chairs and a staircase leading up to the second floor.

“Mornin’.”

The barman has a thick accent which I can’t place. It makes me think of a fisherman. I approach.

“Hey. Sorry, uh, what’s the name of this place.”

He grimaces with brown teeth. The ones he still has.

“Not many folk wind up here by accident.”

He looks me over in a way that makes me feel like I stand out.

“I’m on a trip. I think I must have taken a wrong turn.”

He eyes me with suspicion or apprehension.

“That’d be some wrong turn... You’re in Panner’s End. Believe these here was left for you...”

He reaches under the bar and produces a pouch and a bound package. The pouch makes a metallic sound as it touches the bar top which I assume is coins. The package has the same dimensions as the book the old man tried to hand me.

“Dirty old man?”

“Sure. Rooms cost a silver, pints cost a copper. Trouble costs a night in the box. Provisions and the like are over at Guy’s. Probably not up and about yet, mind you.”

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I pick up the pouch and work it open. Coins. I pull out one of the silver ones and hold it up between my thumb and index.

“Ya?”

He nods and works a key off the large ring hanging from his belt. He places it on the bar and points up.

“Thanks.”

I take the key and make my way up the stairs to a landing. There are four doors facing the front. My key has the number two engraved in it. I unlock door number two and step into a small room. The window looks out over the river to the greens and yellows of the fields. I sit on the bed a moment and then lie down. It’s the safest and the furthest from home I’ve felt since I woke up. Where the hell am I? Fuck’s going on? I feel a well of emotion building in me. Fear and confusion and something I can’t think of the term for. Like a lost child? I take a deep breath and sit up. The package is still in my hands.

Okay. Fucking grab this thing by the throat and subdue it. Start with the book. I undo the binding and peel the wrapping and there it is. Looks the same. Black cover. At least it’s not grimy and flecked with dirty man stuff. Doesn’t even smell bad. So that’s alright. I open it and flip through some pages and don’t understand anything that I see. There are hand written symbols and diagrams. But it doesn’t look like a language. I can see what should be words in the breaks between symbol clusters. Maybe it’s encrypted. And me without my decoder. I don’t know why this occurs to me so I just let my mind follow its course. Small words and double letters are they key. Before long I’ve worked out what seem to be small common words. I start plugging in letters to larger words. I try different possibilities to the small words until larger words appear. Those uncover uncommon letters and lead to more words

I can assume the word transmute. And flipping to the first page I can decypher the title. The Summoner’s Tome. Dime store puzzles. Why was I given a kid's game? I’ll need supplies to transcribe the book if I’m to understand all its contents. I head back downstairs and notice three men sitting around a table. They stare at me as I pass to the entrance and I know they’re the kind whose attention you don’t want. I get the strong feeling that I’m the kind they give their attention to.

Guisarme’s Goods looks open for business. I cross over and enter into cluttered displays of what appear to be used survival gear.

“You’re looking a little ill-equipped. You’ve come to the right place!”

I smile politely glancing over what he has for sale.

“Just looking for something to write with.”

He looks through a shelf behind the counter and produces a feather and ink pot. I stare at them for a moment.

“I don’t know if I can write with those.”

“Not surprised, most people can’t. Make you look smart, mind you!"

“No, I mean...”

I stare at them a little longer and consent. I ask for paper or a notebook and he places a blank roll beside the other items. Nothing’s going to be exactly what I’m looking for here.

“Oh, what about...”

I point to my feet and he looks down at them.

“Ah. Something to make the long road ahead make you whistle a tune!”

“Yeah, okay.”

He looks me over and goes to the back. When he returns he drops an old leather pair on the counter. They look like they come up to my knees.

“Ya, alright. How much?”

“A silver and a half.”

That doesn’t seem bad and I must have about ten silver in the pouch.

“How about a jacket? Something for the cold and rain.”

He sizes me up and again goes to the back. The brown leather of the one he returns with is mottled and stained.

"Already broken in! It should take to you like a the second skin it is."

I try it on and it’s softer than it appears. I’ll have to get used to the smell. I put the boots on which already feel like walking on clouds. I slide over three silver coins and head back to the Laughing Dog with my writing material.

The three men turn their heads towards me again as I cross the floor. I inspect the feather as I pass to make it look like I haven’t noticed them. Back in my room I get to work decoding the symbols. It doesn’t take long before my alphabet is mostly complete.

Each page or two has a title accompanied by text. I find with the simplicity of the symbols that I barely need to refer to the decryption sheet. Some pages have illustrations. Crude pictures of a plant or a hand in some gesticulation or a diagram to be drawn. The opening lines after each title briefly explain the intended effect. It’s a book of spells. I feel disappointment. Nothing here to explain what’s happened to me. I find a trail and follow it. But it only leads me to another trail. And the questions increase.

There’s still nothing behind waking up this morning. I don’t even know my name. Just adventurer. Nor where I am besides Panner’s End. Where am I travelling to or from? I figured out this book quick enough. That’s a skill. A way of looking at things maybe. I have no idea what that says about me or what I was before this. I start flipping through the pages again reading through the titles. Maybe there’s more in here than spells.

Lorgannon’s Fount. Black Hole. Nord Stone. Philus’ Desert Phylactery. Memento Imp. The Red Angel. The Fodder. Burbling Creep. Binding Chain. Hat Pocket. Maggots. Reikkanen. Adumohan. Lesser Adumohan. Warding Ring.

The titles go on and I’m not sure in what order. None of the ingredients called for are things I’ve heard of either. So I start with the ones that require nothing save hands. And the book. I quickly discover it’s actually a component and is included in the procedures. It refers to itself as the focus.

This brings me to one that seems the most straightforward. Black Hole. Makes a hole in the ground. I read through the instructions which also seem simple enough. Look at the floor. Hold the book between my eyes and the spot on the floor. Hold my hand between the book and my eyes. Pinch my fingers together at the tips. Spread my fingers apart while saying “Nux Tru”. Power words and motions and foci and reagents. I get that feeling of familiarity again. Not necessarily that I’ve done it before. Just that I know these concepts.

Hole in the ground. Better outdoors I think. I look out the window and decide maybe outside of town too. Across the river. Maybe behind a big rock. I open my door and the three men from downstairs are there. Did I hear them and just tune them out? They don’t seem like the sneaky type. Two are leaning back against the railing overlooking the entrance. The other is poised against the door frame staring at me like a bird of prey.

“Nice boots.”

One of the two behind him nods and grins.

“Nice jacket.”

My tension has shot up. This is unavoidable confrontation that's only going one direction. These guys are bigger than me. Most guys like this are. I’m not getting past them and I can’t see myself going through the window willingly. I don’t know what the norm here is and I don’t know if this starts with a knife to the belly. I haven’t noticed any presence of law here.

I step back from the door and swap the book to my left hand. Pinch spread. I keep my eyes on them as they enter. The biggest of the three takes up the whole doorway. Nux tru. I hold the book up blocking them from view. Does it have to be open to the right page? Too late. If nothing happens I look silly and this plays out. If something does happen maybe they all just fuck off. I pinch my finger tips together as I hear a low chuckle.

“Nux tru?”

I spread my fingers like I’m stretching open a rubber band. There’s a tugging at the back of my skull which seems to release through the tip of my nose. I hear a crackling like that of wood splintering and a yelp. I peek over the book and only the biggest of the three is still there. His scarred face is expressionless and his shaved head I now notice to be somewhat conical.

“Who are you?”

His tone is deflated and flat. My heart is suddenly racing and I try to control the pace of my words.

“Do the math, I ain't your friend.”

Yeah. That’s the best I could come up with. He stares a moment longer then turns to run. I hear his feet stumble down the stairs. I hear a chair or table being bustled followed by the front door swinging open against its hinges. Before me there is a large black circle on the floor. Peering down over it reveals nothing but more black. It definitely doesn’t lead downstairs.

“That’s right...”

My hands are shaking now and I can feel each beat of my heart against my ribs. I don’t remember who I am. I don’t recall where I’m from. But right now I don't give a damn.

“I’m a fucking summoner, bitch.”